Mr Lonely. Eric Morecambe

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СКАЧАТЬ berserk. His glasses dropped. He tried to catch them before they hit the back of her head but he failed as he could not see them without his glasses. They landed, both arms downwards, on the back of her blonde hair. She felt nothing, her hair having so much lacquer. The glasses were trapped and were now looking upwards towards the jacket on the small, almost stationary, chandelier. Her emotions were still high. Sid tried to reach the glasses with one hand but as he touched them she left his lips to moan, ‘Don’t touch my hair, Sid.’

      ‘Heh?’

      ‘Not my hair, darling.’

      ‘Heh?’

      ‘Anywhere else but not my hair.’

      His hand drew away while her lips tried to find his mouth again, like a month-old piglet looking for the teat of its mother. The percolator was almost dancing on the table.

      Sid freed his mouth and said, ‘Do you fancy a coffee?’

      ‘Turn the bloody thing off.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘It’s electric. There’s a switch. I’ll do it.’

      She got off Sid and flicked the switch at the bottom of the percolator to the down position. Sid was still lying on the settee. She looked down at him and through a pouted mouth said, ‘Would you like to see the rest of the flat?’

      ‘Pardon?’ Sid said.

      ‘The rest of the flat. Follow me and bring the champers.’

      She turned to leave the room, still wearing Sid’s reading glasses on the back of her head. He picked up the bottle and said to his now receding glasses, ‘The percolator is still percolating.’

      ‘Leave it,’ she whispered breathlessly. He followed her out of the room. ‘Don’t forget the glasses,’ she added.

      ‘You’ve got them. Oh, yes, the champagne glasses.’

      ‘I love champagne. It really gets me going.’ Sid dashed back for the champagne glasses on the coffee table. The percolator was still going strong. He unplugged the attached lead at the wall. At the door he looked back into the room. I wonder what the melting point of glass is? he said to himself.

      ‘In here, Sidney.’

      Sidney, he thought. I hate being called Sidney. My mother used to call me Sidney.

      He went into the room the voice came from. It was just as nice as the other room and the bed was covered with one of those enormous pillows. ‘Put the champers there, darling.’ She pointed to a dressing-table. ‘It’s bigger than that stinking dressing-room, eh?’

      ‘I’ll say. Should I open it now?’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘The best way to open champagne so it won’t blow is to hold the cork and turn the bottle.’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘I read that in my diary.’ He undid the foil and the wire, then screwed the bottle round, while holding the cork. Serina sat on the edge of the bed. Sid wondered if she was still wearing his glasses. The cork left the bottle followed by a shower of two full glasses of wasted champagne. Serina laughed. It sounded like the scream of cattle on barbed wire.

      Sid shouted, ‘Oh, sod it.’

      ‘I hope that gave you some ideas, Sidney.’

      He held the bottle to her glass and filled it. The bubbles subsided. He handed her one glass. She was about to lie back. ‘Don’t lie down, darling,’ Sid almost shouted.

      ‘Oh, something different in mind, Sidney?’

      He poured one for himself. ‘Yes.’

      ‘How do you do it with your clothes on?’ Serina giggled. Her giggle was softer than her laugh, very similar to a dentist’s high-powered water drill.

      ‘Slowly,’ he grinned.

      ‘Not too slowly, I hope.’ From the other room the tape was going strong. ‘Turn off the tape in the other room, cherub,’ she instructed.

      ‘Yes, okay.’

      Sid left the bedroom and went back to the other room. He turned the tape off, and looked at the still-percolating coffee. He touched the glass. It was still very hot. If I hadn’t turned that off, we might be in orbit by now, he thought.

      He went back to the bedroom. Serina was now naked and pouring another glass of champagne. Her back was turned towards Sid and his reading glasses were still safe. She drank her champers down and passed him a full glass. He took it and drank it quickly. She was starting to get heady.

      ‘Sid, you’re lovely.’

      ‘Yes, I know,’ he said.

      ‘Come to bed.’ He undid his tie. ‘Allow me.’ She took off his shirt and slowly undressed him, drinking and laughing. Sid thought, This is going to be one hell of a night. A night to remember. I’ll ask her for my glasses tomorrow.

      Sid drove home with drunken care—the kind of driving a police patrol would notice instantly. Twenty-three miles an hour in a thirty mile an hour zone, twenty-nine miles an hour in the forty mile an hour zone; and ninety miles an hour in the seventy mile an hour zone. He had had a few so the best thing to do was to drive with all due care. It was two-fifteen a.m. The Rover cruised in a straight line, albeit in the centre of the road. The roads were empty and, anyway, he was only a few minutes away from his house. Past the Tally-Ho Corner and turn right at the Torrington Arms, into Friern Barnet and home. 22 Peacock Lane. Every time he drove down Peacock Lane, he felt satisfaction, a feeling of achievement. It gave him pride. Tonight, as he drove back towards Peacock Lane, having missed the turning, he felt all three—pride, and the satisfaction of his achievement. He thought, if he had a family motto, it would be: Pri, Satis, Achi.

      Soon now, he told himself. Slow down. 22, 22, where are you—22? Oh, there you are. The white Rover slowly turned into the gravel path, through the ever-open gates, and went towards the closed garage doors. Carrie’s car’ll be in the garage, he thought, so I’ll have to back up and open the garage doors. Cobblers. I’ll leave it out. It’s a nice night and she’ll be able to take Elspeth to school in it tomorrow. I’ll leave the keys in the usual place, under the tin of Cadbury’s Lucky Numbers Assortment in the kitchen.

      Sid said all this to himself in the car while fighting to get out of the seatbelt without unlocking it. A thought came to him. Stop. Unlock the seatbelt, son. That’s a good idea. I know. Do it now. He did and the belt slid back and once again he was a free man.

      He quietly closed the car door and locked it from the outside. He quietly opened the car door again and turned off the lights. He then banged the car door shut. He did not actually roll towards the front door and he did not exactly stagger, it was both, more of a rollagger. He looked up and above his front door saw the space for the immortal words—Pri, Satis, Achi. For a full two minutes he tried to open the front door with his car keys. After several deep breaths and a search of pockets, he found the door key and let himself in. The porch light was on, as always. He tiptoed into the dark kitchen, made his way across to the pantry and put the light on there, left the front door keys СКАЧАТЬ